You Call That an Ink Defense?
by Night Monkey
Summary: The Eleventh Doctor is lonely and needs a friend. Why not Zoidberg?


This cross-over had to happen. In fact, it's happened already. Yes, the worlds of _Doctor Who_ and _Futurama _have already collided. I'm just muddying the waters further.

For anyone who doesn't know what I mean, consult the _Futurama_ episodes "Mobius Dick," where the Fourth Doctor was eaten by a space whale, and "All the Presidents' Heads," where the same Doctor rides a bus to his TARDIS.

Explanation boring. Over now. Onto adventure, smoking robots, and medical malpractice!

* * *

><p>He hadn't seen the Ponds in months, River was occupied with something so secret she couldn't even tell him what quadrant of the galaxy she was in, and his goldfish had died yesterday. He was all alone. He needed a new companion, someone he could talk to, someone to explore distant planets with, and someone who wouldn't die six hours after arriving home from the pet store.<p>

Was there such a being anywhere in the vast universe?

Just as the Doctor was about to despair, the TARDIS lurched. The Doctor found it nearly impossible to brood when he found himself knocked off his feet and pressed rather painfully against a lever on the console. Yes, that lever jammed right between two vertebrae was quite distracting.

The TARDIS stabilized and the Doctor fell from his uncomfortable position onto the floor. He staggered to his feet and clutched his back. That was going to bruise. The Doctor glared at the offending lever and wondered if a button couldn't do the same job with much less risk of partial impalement.

Now wasn't the time for replacing dangerous parts. Now was the time for figuring out why Sexy had been knocked over. The Doctor's initial thought was a malfunctioning navigational circuit, but before he could don his protective goggles and climb beneath the console, he heard a female voice, charged with static, crackle from somewhere. He scanned the console's confusion of lights, levers, buttons, and gewgaws before noticing a primitive radio he swore he'd never seen before.

The Doctor grabbed the radio and listened intently as whoever was on the other side shouted at someone named "Bender." There was certainly nobody on his ship named Bender. Maybe the voice on the radio had mistaken his TARDIS for the ship of this Bender person, though how a police box floating through space could be mistaken for anyone else's ship was beyond the Doctor.

"Fry, stop being unconscious and help him put out the fire! I don't care how many bones you think you broke. You've got spares."

Well, that was just rude. And medically unsound. Just because all a person's bones weren't broken didn't mean that person was fit to use a fire extinguisher.

"I couldn't help but overhear that someone on your ship has broken bones," the Doctor said into the radio.

"How did you know?" the radio-voice demanded.

"I heard it on my radio. You're transmitting, you know."

"The button's jammed and I can't turn it off. Look, who is this anyway?"

"Me. The Doctor."

"You're not the doctor. That's Zoidberg and you don't sound quite as stupid."

The Doctor took a deep breath in preparation for his usual explanation, but never got around to using that particular lungful. The name—Zoidberg—was oddly familiar. The Doctor prodded his memory. Zoidberg. He'd definitely heard that name before. But where? That mining robot on Aurum-4? No, that had been Zoid_bot_. A crashed zeppelin in 1937? No, that was the _Hinden_burg, and the "bergs" weren't even spelled the same. An unconventional but brilliant surgeon who suggested the Doctor get an ink sack for personal defense? Yes!

"Dr. John A. Zoidberg?" the Doctor asked.

"Yeah, him. Where are you and why do you care about Zoidberg? Nobody cares about Zoidberg."

"I'm in the police box. Where are you?"

"In the big thing that hit your police box. What are you doing in there, anyway? We thought it was space-crap that escaped the gravity on Dumpworld 1.3B."

Space-crap wasn't the worst thing the TARDIS had ever been called. Still, it wasn't very nice. After giving Sexy an affectionate pat and letting her know she was the opposite of space-crap, the Doctor decided to take a look at whatever had rammed him.

Upon opening the doors to the TARDIS, the Doctor found a green ship far larger than his TARDIS (at least on the outside) floating alongside him. The ship's nose had been punched inward and from what the Doctor could see through the ship's windshield, its cabin was filled with smoke. For a moment he saw a humanoid silhouette move through the smoke before disappearing out of view.

Behind him, the Doctor heard the familiar female voice come from the radio. He hurried back and picked up the receiver.

"I know your ship is tiny, but ours is full of smoke. Do you have room for two humans, a robot, and a lobster? If not, how about just two humans? It'll only be until our fans clear the air."

"My ship's bigger on the inside. You can bring whomever you like. We can have a party. You can meet my gold… Ah! I made myself sad." The Doctor wiped away a tear as he remembered the short life of Fred, who was still floating belly-up in his bowl.

"A party! Woo-hoo!" A new voice, this one male, came from the radio. The sound of a smack and a grunt of pain followed the voice.

Five minutes later, two humans in spacesuits, a robot with an unlit cigar in his mouth and a keg under his arm, and the eminent Dr. Zoidberg were aboard the TARDIS. The robot immediately wandered off in search of something he could light his cigar with. The humans removed their helmets and then the female human introduced herself and her crew.

"I'm Captain Turanga Leela, he's Fry, Bender's here somewhere, and that's Zoidberg. What are you suing him for? Grafting a dorsal fin onto your back? Giving you a swim bladder instead of an actual bladder?"

"Leela. I knew a Leela once. Wait, why do you think I'm suing Dr. Zoidberg?" the Doctor asked.

"Nobody who's ever met Zoidberg hasn't wanted to sue him," Leela said.

"I don't want to sue him."

As soon as he said that, the Doctor was astounded to find Zoidberg groveling at his feet, running tentacles across his boots, and sobbing his thanks. No amount of encouragement could get Zoidberg to stop. In desperation the Doctor climbed atop the console. With the Doctor's feet out of his reach, Zoidberg was forced to stand up.

"You're telling me Zoidberg never tried to mutilate you?" Leela asked. "Maybe he did it when you weren't paying attention."

"He offered to give me an ink sack, but I'd hardly call it mutilation. He was right; the ink sack really would have come in handy. I should have taken him up on the offer," the Doctor said.

Leela and Fry exchanged glances. They weren't sure they wanted to be on the Doctor's ship anymore.

Zoidberg, upon hearing that his medical advice hadn't been rejected, soaked in gasoline and set ablaze, melted into an even more pathetic puddle of lobster bisque and tears. The Doctor sighed. He remembered Dr. Zoidberg acting more dignified and professional. Time must have treated him poorly.

With gentle, encouraging words, the Doctor was able to coax Zoidberg off the floor. The crustacean wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his lab coat. Fry and Leela, disgusted by Zoidberg, wandered off to find the keg Bender had taken with him.

"It's alright, Dr. Zoidberg. Some people have no appreciation for cross-species creativity," the Doctor said.

Zoidberg blew the nose he didn't have on his sleeve. His tentacles flapped and undulated. The Doctor cringed. He hoped Zoidberg washed his claws before he touched any patients.

Now that he was free of tears and mucus and had the desire to worship his amazing new friend under control, Zoidberg was able to have a proper a conversation with the Doctor. Zoidberg wasn't particularly well-versed in small talk, as people tended to run from the room or throw things at him whenever he spoke, so he decided to jump right into the logistics of surgically implanting an ink sack.

"So, friend of Zoidberg, I offered you an ink pouch. I don't remember you, but you have good taste."

"Yeah, suppose you wouldn't recognize me. I was older back then. Well, younger in age but older in appearance. You know how it is."

Zoidberg nodded as though this made perfect sense.

"And you still want one?" Zoidberg asked. "Now that you're younger and older?"

"Absolutely! I'd need the fingers of everyone on Earth to count the times an ink defense could have helped me. Daleks attacking? Ink to the eyestalk! Cybermen trying to take over the world? I doubt ink's any good for their circuits. Rory's bored? Ink all over the place! Have fun cleaning, Mr. Pond. Here, I'll lend you my mop."

Zoidberg felt like he'd found a long-lost brother. A soft, shell-less, hairy brother.

"That's what I always say. But does anyone listen to Zoidberg? No. They tell him to shut up and stop eating out of the dumpster."

The Doctor _really _hoped Zoidberg washed his claws before he touched patients, or anything for that matter. Maybe the Doctor could drop a helpful hint—and if that failed, see if he couldn't resurrect his old knack for hypnosis—that would get Zoidberg headed for the nearest sink.

Before the Doctor could get Zoidberg interested in personal hygiene, a more pressing matter called for his attention. An alarm bell the Doctor had never heard before started ringing. The Doctor had no idea what the alarm meant; he'd thrown the TARDIS manual into a black hole, and even if he had the manual handy, he never would have taken the time to consult it. Hoping the alarm didn't mean Sexy was about to blow sky-high or that the time vortex at her heart was about to tear her and all passengers into atoms, the Doctor ran towards the source of the pulsing shriek.

Having nothing better to do, Zoidberg followed. He was almost pulled off course by the sight of an overflowing bin in one room but decided to stay on his friend's good side and not smear his spaceship with garbage, no matter how tasty the garbage looked.

The Doctor followed the alarm through corridor after corridor until finally arriving at the source. He entered a room and discovered the screaming alarm was accompanied by a flashing red light. The alarm and its light show had been triggered by several glass cases being smashed and looted.

Bender, having none of the manners Zoidberg possessed, had decided to rob the Doctor blind. He'd wandered into a room while looking for a good air vent to blow the smoke from his Zuban cigar into, and had been overwhelmed by the amount of sparkle and shine the room contained. His thieving programming had taken over and he'd gotten to work breaking anything that separated his hands from the Doctor's gold and artifacts.

Fry and Leela, who had been searching for Bender (but mainly for his booze) had been drawn in by the sound of sirens. As mesmerized as Aladdin's monkey by the riches they found Bender stuffing into his hollow chest cavity, neither of them thought to tell Bender off or alert the Doctor. Leela, completely against her moral compass, mind you, found herself slipping a gold bangle onto her wrist and a ruby-studded hairpin into her ponytail.

The Doctor arrived just in time to see Bender crown himself with a headpiece that would have made the British Crown Jewels look like costume jewelry. Not satisfied with looking like the emperor of half the galaxy, Bender smashed one of the few glass cases that had escaped the looting and extracted a scepter topped with a gem the size of a chicken egg.

"Look out, baby, Super King's back in action." To prove how awesome of a ruler he was, he smacked Fry on the head with the scepter.

"Don't do that!" the Doctor said, moving to take the scepter from Bender.

This was not the first time Bender had been discovered mid-heist. He did what he always did in such a situation: he took his money and he ran. Taking a second to grab one last bag and hoist said bag over his shoulder, Bender jogged past the Doctor. The thieving robot had intended to make a quicker exit, but as he was laden with more treasure than a Spanish galleon, lifting his feet was a chore.

Leela surreptitiously slipped the bangle off her wrist and let it clink to the floor among the broken glass. She forgot about the hairpin entirely. Fry had nothing to feel guilty for, and even if he had any illicit goods, he was too busy clutching the back of his head to dispose of them.

"He didn't have to leave. I only wanted him to stop hitting Fry with the scepter. It belonged to the eighth Raj-Earl of Mumbai. The planet, not the city," the Doctor explained.

"You don't care that Bender broke or stole all your crap?" Leela asked.

"This isn't even mine. Technically it might be, but with regenerations and all… I don't care if he takes it, but he can't hit people with it."

Fry snorted. "Yeah, try telling Bender he can't hit people with something. I did that once and he hit me with the Professor."

Robots of this era, the Doctor recalled, made Cybermen look like good roommates. Humans had not put their best creative foot forward in the year 3000.

"In that case, can I keep this?" Leela picked up the bangle.

"Sure."

Fry looked around the devastated room and found a modest necklace that had somehow escaped the paws of Bender. He held up his prize.

"Can I keep this for Leela?" Fry asked.

The Doctor grinned. He knew a fool in love when he saw one. He happily obliged. Leela, looking a little pink in the cheeks, grabbed Fry and hauled him out of the room before his romantic streak could embarrass her further.

"Thanks for everything. I'm sure the_ Planet Express_ is fit for human habitation again. Come on, Fry, before Bender takes off without us."

"Wait, what about Zoidberg?" Fry asked.

"What about him? He found his one friend in the whole universe. Let him stay here," Leela replied.

"But what if we miss him?"

"We're never going to miss him. If you do, I'll buy you a hermit crab. It'll be better than Zoidberg."

"Can I say good-bye to him?"

"No."

"If Zoidberg misses us and wants to come home, drop him off in New New York at the Planet Express Building," Fry told the Doctor.

"Don't tell him where we work!" Leela hissed.

The Doctor flashed Fry thumbs up. Though it looked like Zoidberg's friends, with the exception of Fry, didn't care if he was boiled and served with a side of butter, the Doctor was sure Zoidberg would want to see them again. Probably in about an hour.

Bender was long gone by the time Leela and Fry arrived at the TARDIS control room. They donned the helmets they'd discarded earlier and Leela opened the doors. She looked across the tether that connected the two ships and saw the _Planet Express_ was now smoke-free. She also saw Bender sitting in the captain's chair with his feet on the steering wheel.

"Thanks, Doctor," Leela said. "If you are a real doctor, and not one like Zoidberg."

"I've got diplomas," the Doctor replied.

"I've got a high school diploma," Fry said.

"He doesn't care," Leela said. "Now let's go."

Leela grasped the tether and floated into space. Fry paused for a second.

"Are you sure you remember where—"

"The Planet Express Building, New New York," the Doctor said.

Two minutes later, the _Planet Express_ undocked. The Doctor waved. Fry returned the gesture. Leela was too busy chasing Bender out of her chair.

Zoidberg wandered into the room ten minutes after his friends departed. Despite his best efforts, he'd been side-tracked by a room filled with pickled fish. He now stunk like a barrel of lutefisk left out in the sun.

"They left without me! Why does this keep happening?" Zoidberg cried when the Doctor delivered the news.

"No, no! Not at all! I had to convince them to leave you with me. They wanted you, but I told them I needed that ink pouch. I'll take you home before they miss you too much," the Doctor said.

Zoidberg stopped weeping. "Really?"

"Really, really. Now why don't you, uh, wash up and then we can find a nice legal donor ink pouch somewhere."

"Bah, Zoidberg is always prepared." Zoidberg reached into the pocket of his lab coat and produced a sealed plastic bag. Something gray and deflated was pressed inside the bag. The Doctor assumed it was his new ink pouch. He began to have second thoughts.

"Uh, good, I guess. You can just wash your claws and I'll show you the medical bay."

* * *

><p>River Song fumbled with the TARDIS key. Manipulating the key was difficult enough with the cumbersome gloves of her spacesuit, and to make matters worse, she had the limited use of only one hand. The other arm was firmly wrapped around the Doctor's surprise.<p>

After a bit of clever maneuvering and bending her wrist to the point she was sure she sprained it, River was able to step into the TARDIS. She pressed a button on her spacesuit that sent the stolen escape pod she'd arrived in back to its mother ship. Once she saw the escape pod disappear, she closed the doors.

"Sweetie?" River called. She'd expected the Doctor to greet her—and the incredible gift she'd brought him—but he was nowhere in sight.

"Are you trying to find the greenhouse again? I thought you'd given up on that."

Still no reply. The Doctor must have been deeper in the guts of the TARDIS. Perhaps the library…

River searched the library, pool, squash courts one through ten, kitchens five through alpha, and the wardrobe of Nepalese high fashion. No Doctor. She wasn't sure how many more rooms she had to look through, but her arms were beginning to get sore. The Doctor's present wasn't something she's planned to lug through half the TARDIS.

Just when River was about to give up and return to the control room, she heard a noise that froze her in her tracks. It was the Doctor gasping in pain. She forgot all about her sore arms and rushed in the direction of the noise.

River burst into the medical bay, dropped the Doctor's gift on an empty bed and pulled her gun. She aimed the weapon around the room before settling it on…a giant lobster. A giant lobster who was holding a scalpel in his claws and hovering over the shirtless Doctor.

"Hello, River. This is my friend, Dr. Zoidberg," the Doctor said brightly.

"That's very nice. Uh, Sweetie, what is he doing to you?" River asked.

"Making the first incision."

"Why?"

"Because I'm getting an ink pouch."

"No, Sweetie. No."

"But—"

"Ink pouches are not cool, and you are not getting one."

The Doctor pouted. River refused to budge. Zoidberg knew he was defeated. He dropped the unopened ink pouch packet back into his pocket and handed the Doctor his shirt and bowtie.

"I think it's time for your friend to go home," River suggested once the Doctor was fully clothed.

"Does he have to?" the Doctor asked.

Zoidberg made the choice for himself. His services were needed elsewhere. Without his medical help, the crew of the _Planet Express_ would surely die before long, and might even at that very moment need his expert claws.

While the Doctor and Zoidberg said their goodbyes, River piloted the TARDIS to 30th Century Earth. She landed with nary a bump on the sidewalk outside the Planet Express Building.

"If you ever reconsider, you know where to find me," Zoidberg said.

"He won't," River said.

"What about a dorsal fin? Very attractive."

"Thanks, but we'll both pass. Oh, look, I think that policeman would really enjoy a set of gills." River pointed across the street to a pair of policemen, one human and one robot.

With a hurried goodbye, Zoidberg exited the TARDIS and crossed the street. River slammed the door behind him.

"I'll miss him," the Doctor said.

"I brought you a cake."

"I don't miss him so much anymore."

"Good. Oh, and Sweetie. If you ever let anyone give you an ink pouch, I'll cut it out myself."

The End


End file.
